


Grant That I

by The_Asset6



Series: Deleted Scenes and Broken Dreams [5]
Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Gen, No Romance, Reference to Canonical Character Death, endgame spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:03:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10004036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6
Summary: Who was it that decided from atop their divine perch that he couldn’t plead for more time? The hands of fate had pushed him on his way all these years, and he knew his duty—to his friends, his people, his kingdom. As the end loomed ever closer, all the last king of Lucis could think of was how desperately he longed for that which was never enough: time.***Spoilers through the first half of Chapter Fourteen.





	1. One More Day

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! Before you read ahead, please bear in mind that there are **MAJOR** spoilers for the end of the game in this story. The end will not be shown here, but what happens will be alluded to. If you haven't finished the game yet, I strongly suggest doing so before you read this installment. 
> 
> For the first time in this series, we finally see Noctis's perspective. I was trying to focus on the other characters since we spend the entire game viewing the world and events through Noct's eyes, but this was a story that simply couldn't be told any other way. For those of you who have read the rest of the series so far, this is a direct continuation of "What Lies Between," the first story. 
> 
> As a bit of a disclaimer, the title of the story, chapters, and quite a few chapter allusions are related to the song, "Too Much + Never Enough." Although it is one of the songs created for FFXV, it's never actually played in the game (unless I'm missing it). The song is all about Noct and his destiny, though, and was too beautiful not to use in this story. I hope you enjoy it!

Darkness rained from the sky in the form of photophilic particles, clogging the air with its sacrilegious filth until it was amazing that anyone dared to breathe. If Noctis closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that it was snow drifting down from the heavens to bless them with its rejuvenating chill. The flakes were cold to the touch and seemed to dissolve upon contact with his skin; it sent a shiver up his spine every time, only unlike snow, it wasn’t in the good way. Instead, it filled him with a sense of dread, for the same particles that imitated nature’s gift in winter were nothing more than death on the breeze. The more the particles gathered, the more they filtered through the air and people’s lungs, the higher the likelihood that all who hadn’t yet succumbed would soon fall to darkness. Their world already had: the light of the moon was hidden beyond the murky clouds, the vaguest outline just barely visible.

Were the Astrals looking down on them from way up there? Were they watching the scenes of suffering and turmoil, or had the darkness blinded them to what was happening in the world they’d long since abandoned?

Noctis had no answers, but there was one thing he knew without a shadow of a doubt: time was waning fast. After listening to Talcott’s account of what had befallen not only Lucis but apparently the rest of the world as well in the last ten years, it was obvious that mankind couldn’t hold out against the daemons much longer. Too many had already been turned just like the people of Niflheim he’d read about in Zegnautus Keep, and the rest couldn’t sequester themselves in Lestallum forever. Eventually, something would go wrong—the lights would go out, whether from some sort of malfunction at the power plant or sabotage by any number of daemons that frequently found their way inside it. If that happened, all those people—refugees, hunters, _everyone_ —would perish. There would be no recourse, no respite. It was only a matter of time.

That was why Noctis persuaded the others to prepare for their final departure not long after he arrived in Hammerhead. They had been reluctant at first, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. Ten years had passed in the blink of an eye for him, but Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto had been forced to live through every dark second of them. Unlike him, they didn’t get to remove themselves from the equation and let the world fall to pieces without their presence. They’d gone through the wringer, and now, after hardly any time at all, he was asking them to leave? It felt wrong the moment the words escaped his lips.

Ignis, at least, didn’t appear to mind. It was utterly unsurprising, really: he was, after all, the brains of the operation. With or without his eyesight, he knew the lay of the land and just how badly off they would be if they delayed the inevitable. Ardyn was waiting, and the longer they hesitated, the more likely it was that the unthinkable would come to pass for the people who had been awaiting Noctis’s arrival all these years with no return on their faith. It was clear that he wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea, of course, but this was Ignis—his advisor and perhaps the most brilliant, realistic person he knew. Like it or not, he would do what was necessary.

Prompto and Gladio, however, were slightly more difficult to convince. He couldn’t blame them, not when his own heart raced faster at the thought of leaving Hammerhead and entering Insomnia for the final time. They didn’t even know about that part—he was putting off telling them for as long as humanly possible—but it was enough for them that he wanted to get on the road without really taking the opportunity to catch up at all.

That was a slight exaggeration: they _had_ put together the pieces of their personal puzzles in a few brief minutes after Noctis arrived. It was difficult to remain in Hammerhead, however, when Noctis felt so out of place there. The post had been altered in so many ways to accommodate for the hunters that now used it as a completely different kind of station: the diner was packed with weapons and supplies, fences had been erected that had no place there, and armed guards lined the walls to make sure that no errant daemons happened to wander too close. The only thing that he considered at all familiar now was the garage, and even that was shut up tight since Prompto explained that Cindy had gone to visit Cid in Lestallum.

Well, the Cup Noodles billboard was pretty familiar too, still alight even when everything else had gone dark. The sight made him smile, and he thought it wouldn’t be too far off base to take it as a sign that they could put things back the way they were. _He_ could put things back.

But he was running out of time in more ways than one.

So he persisted. He insisted that they leave first thing in the morning, a slight compromise since Ignis pointed out that he should get some rest before it was time to face Ardyn. At first, he’d tried to argue—he’d been sleeping long enough, or at least it felt like he had. Time hadn’t meant anything inside the Crystal, so he couldn’t be sure if he was asleep or unconscious or if he’d faded out of existence entirely only to reappear when the Draconian finally deemed him ready. However, Noctis was surprised to find that he _was_ far more tired than he would have thought after fighting his way through what remained of Galdin Quay and weathering the storm of emotions that had struck him when Talcott explained what had been happening. The thought of what would befall everyone if he failed to defeat Ardyn had him agreeing, albeit grudgingly, with Ignis’s suggestion, and the four of them retired to the caravan for the evening.

Noctis would never tell the others, but he was glad for the reprieve. To see Gladio lounging in a chair with a book in hand, Prompto across the table furtively snapping pictures of him like he might once again disappear in a flash, Ignis preparing a meal at the stove as if he could see what he was doing—it left a warm feeling in the depths of his chest that had been absent even as he relived all the memories of their journey inside the Crystal. Everything had changed so much, and yet some things seemed like they would always be the same.

He contemplated telling them the truth as they filled each other in on what had happened over the past decade. He knew they had a right to know, that they would _need_ to know so that they were prepared when the time came. Whenever he opened his mouth to tell them, though, he found a lump in his throat refusing to let him get a word out. Prompto fortunately kept up a steady stream of chatter about becoming a legendary hunter, working with Aranea, and the amazing feats Cindy seemed capable of achieving even in the darkest of times; Gladio interjected here and there to poke fun at him, just like the old days, but was fairly tightlipped about what he’d been doing all this time, with the exception of a hint towards a potential flame here and there.

“So…when do we get to meet her?” inquired Prompto with a devilish leer. Usually it was Gladio’s job to antagonize him, so Noctis always got a kick out of it when the tables were turned. Gladio was a pretty good sport about it and only rolled his eyes a _little_.

“Eventually. _Maybe_.”

“Aw, dude, come on! Why you gotta be like that?”

Ignis hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps he knows you intend to impart every humiliating anecdote you possibly can the moment you meet her?”

“Would _I_ do that?” demanded Prompto, feigning indignation that grew a bit more genuine at the trifecta of _yes_ es that answered him. “Hey!”

“It’s not like you’d have a whole lot to tell anyway,” Gladio interrupted him with an arrogant smirk he had to know would send Prompto over the deep end.

Snorting, Prompto pointed out, “Seriously? You haven’t slept in the same tent with you.”

Noctis couldn’t help laughing at that. He’d always slept like a log whether they were in a tent, caravan, or hotel room, but the way Prompto would tell it, Gladio snored like a broken motorboat. Ignis never dignified him with a response when he asked for confirmation, which was basically the same thing anyway.

“Let’s not start with _that_ again.”

“Just stating a fact, big guy.”

“I thought facts were supposed to be _true_.”

“Not liking ‘em doesn’t make them any _less_ true.”

“For the last time, Prompto, I _don’t_ s—“

“That being said,” interrupted Ignis pointedly, his tone brooking no room for their sniping to continue, “there isn’t much left to discuss of goings on in your absence, Highness.”

Noctis heard the question even if Ignis didn’t bother to put it in words: _what happened to you?_

This was the part he’d been dreading. How much was he supposed to tell them? Eventually, they would need to know it all, but they weren’t ready to bear that burden just yet. _He_ wasn’t ready to unload it onto their shoulders. It was already heavy enough, knowing what he did and understanding that time was ticking away to the end of his life. To put that on them… It could wait a bit longer. There were plenty of other things to tell them in the meantime.

“Well…” Noctis began warily, parsing through the memories silently before he slipped and blew the whole thing. “I’m…not really sure where to start.”

“The beginning is usually the best place,” suggested Gladio, only half joking. Noctis exhaled sharply in what would have been a laugh if it were at all amusing.

Ignis tried to be a bit more helpful, prompting, “What happened when you found the Crystal?”

Frowning at the sensation Ignis’s words conjured in the pit of his stomach, Noctis swallowed down the wave of residual guilt for leaving them behind in the hangar so that he could explain, “I touched it. I thought… _We_ thought it would get rid of the daemons, but instead it sucked me in. Ardyn knew it was going to happen. That’s what he was waiting for—it’s why he let us make it that far.”

“ _Let_ us?” snorted Gladio derisively. “Sure did put us through a lot of trouble for someone who wanted us to get there anyway.”

There was no denying that, so Noctis simply nodded. Prompto was the one who observed, “Since when does _anything_ he did ever make sense?”

“Ardyn’s means may have been unclear, but there is undoubtedly a motive behind them,” argued Ignis.

“Yeah, he finally said right before…” _I left_. Noctis didn’t need to say it out loud—he knew they were thinking the same thing. So, shaking his head in disgust, he continued, “We had it all wrong. Niflheim was never the real enemy. Ardyn was using the empire so he could attack Insomnia and take the Crystal. Once he had that, he didn’t need Aldercapt anymore.”

“Do you think… _Ardyn’s_ the one who turned him into a daemon?” Prompto asked tremulously. Ignis nodded, frowning in thought.

“That certainly would be the most reasonable assumption. He does have a frightening amount of control over Magitek and daemons.”

“Because he _is_ one himself,” Noctis spat bitterly. Based on the stunned expressions he received in exchange for his outburst, the others must not have figured that part out yet.

“Uh…come again?”

“You’re saying _what_ now?”

Ignis was silent, his eyebrows furrowed. Behind the dark glasses, Noctis could tell that his right eye was narrowed in thought. For some reason, he seemed like he was mulling something over—but he definitely didn’t appear as surprised as Prompto and Gladio. As Noctis relayed the story Ardyn had told him moments before he vanished into the Crystal, Ignis’s expression grew increasingly grim while the others simply didn’t seem to know what to think. Silence gripped them as soon as he was finished, although for Prompto and Gladio it was more out of sheer horror than anything else. Ignis, however, suffered no such verbal blockage.

“I suppose that _does_ make sense,” he mused quietly, leaning back in his seat and propping his chin on his fist. “When we attempted to attack him, Gladio mentioned seeing darkness seeping from his wounds of the same sort as the daemons radiate.”

Noctis’s eyebrows flew up until they had to be touching his hairline. “You _attacked_ him?”

Chuckling humorlessly, Gladio shrugged, “The hell else were we supposed to do? You were gone; he was there. Seemed pretty obvious what’d happened.”

“Yeah, but—“

“We weren’t just gonna let him go after everything he did,” muttered Prompto. He didn’t lift his eyes from where they were trained on his hands, but Noctis read his guilt in the way his shoulders slumped defeatedly. “Didn’t make a difference, though. We couldn’t take him down.”

“You wouldn’t—he’s immortal,” Noctis consoled in an attempt to lift his spirits. It didn’t seem to work.

Ignis didn’t let them dwell on their failures for long, though, and instead brought them right back around to actual topic of their conversation before it was derailed slightly.

“Regardless of our success in engaging him, the fact remains that he was impervious to defeat for the same reason that daemons respawn no matter how many times we vanquish them,” he asserted straightforwardly. “Now that we have Noct’s account of events, everything is clear.”

Gladio, raising an eyebrow, leveled him with a skeptical sidelong glance. “’Fraid you’re gonna have to explain that to the class there, Iggy.”

The exasperated sigh Ignis heaved made Noctis smile despite the heaviness of their conversation. This was just like the old days, when Ignis would try to teach him something he thought was simple only for Noctis to stare at him like he was nuts. If this were chess, Ignis would be the king rather than him. He was constantly surveying their options, thinking five moves ahead of everyone else, and giving the orders as the master strategist he’d trained so hard to be. The rest of them were a bumbling mess by comparison, and not for the first time, Noctis was unspeakably grateful that the distant events in Altissia hadn’t stolen Ignis away from them for good.

Somehow managing to contain his disappointment in their lack of comprehension, Ignis patiently elucidated, “The photophilic particles that are released when daemons are defeated enter the atmosphere, hence our current predicament. As they rain back down, they create yet more of the same. Therefore, the daemons, in a sense, are immortal. Now, if you take Ardyn…”

“He’s absorbed so many of them over the years that he’s practically made of photophilic particles,” finished Noctis, unabashedly proud of himself when Ignis nodded in agreement. “The deeper the darkness, the more powerful he becomes.”

“Yeah, but…I’m still not getting how he _absorbed_ daemons,” frowned Prompto uneasily.

“Based on what Noctis has told us and the documents I located with Talcott, it would appear that Ardyn is much older than any of us would have believed possible. He must have been king of Lucis following the ancient war, when the Starscourge ravaged the planet and people transformed into daemons for the first time.” He paused, seeming to be looking for the right words, and pursed his lips in frustration. “I admit that much of this is conjecture on my part—“

“Which is basically the same thing as fact to the rest of the world,” grinned Gladio. Ignis waved him off.

“It is my belief that, if what he told Noct is true, Ardyn had powers similar to those of the Oracle. He would have been able to heal his people, but rather than purifying the disease the way Lady Lunafreya and the House of Fleuret was wont to do, he took the plague into himself instead.”

Gladio grunted, shaking his head. “Bet the Astrals loved that.”

“That _would_ explain why he was meant to be the Chosen King only to have another topple him from his throne.”

“He lost the favor of the gods,” confirmed Noctis. “The Draconian called him the Accursed.”

Humming in acknowledgement, Ignis murmured, “They must want him vanquished as badly as we do.”

“Ugh, then why don’t they do it themselves!” exclaimed Prompto, collapsing back against his chair with his arms dangling over the edge as he stared up at the abyss above them. He couldn’t maintain that position for long when the photophilic particles began to coat his face, and when he turned back to them, it was with all the sullen indignation Noctis recognized from school when he would get a bad grade he didn’t think was deserved. (It happened more often than he would admit aloud.)

“For the selfsame reason they do not cure the affliction or clear the air,” replied Ignis fairly. “They _cannot_. It is the duty of the monarch chosen by the ancient kings of Lucis to bring light back to the world.”

“Sounds like they’re just lazy to me.”

Noctis smirked at that, but something struck him for the first time in that moment that he hadn’t had a chance to consider up until now.

“I… I think they _did_ try.” Ignis turned towards him in silent question, and he continued, “Angelgard is a prison. Or it was, anyway. That’s where I woke up before I made it to Galdin. There’s only one cell, and it’s surrounded by these huge pillars—I didn’t recognize the runes on them, but they reminded me of symbols from the legends.”

That appeared to pique Ignis’s interest, and he nodded slowly as he processed the information. “If that theory holds water, the pillars may have been infused with magic to ensure that he did not escape.”

“Yeah,” snorted Gladio, rolling his eyes. “Whole lot of good _that_ did.”

“Ardyn may have been too strong to be contained by the time they thought to imprison him,” suggested Ignis.

Noctis thought back to his point about photophilic particles and added, “Or he got stronger over time. If they were only trying to keep him _in_ , maybe they didn’t bother keeping the daemons _out_.”

“In which case, he would have been able to absorb larger amounts of particles until he could break through any barriers and return to the mainland.”

“Exactly.”

“And he’d probably be pretty ticked after being stranded on some island for who knows how long,” interjected Prompto with an ill-concealed shudder. Given that he was the only one of them who had been alone with Ardyn for any real length of time, Noctis couldn’t say he blamed him.

“All this is nothing more than speculation at this point,” qualified Ignis with a nod in Prompto’s direction. “However, it does seem to make sense. Whatever the Six may have done in the past, it is up to us to see to it that Ardyn meets his end now. Only the Chosen King has the power to do so.”

And didn’t _that_ just make him feel great. He’d heard things to that effect almost his entire life, whether from his father or his friends or any number of the king’s inner circle who happened to know he’d been chosen. Never in his life had he thought the crown would weigh so heavy—and he wasn’t technically wearing it yet.

Prompto seemed to speak his thoughts for him, murmuring, “So much for the all-powerful Six.”

“Tell me about it,” agreed Gladio with a weariness that was new to Noctis. Perhaps more had changed than his Shield decided to let on.

It would have been nice if the conversation ended there or turned to happier thoughts. He felt like there was still so much to discuss—how Ignis was faring without his sight, what Gladio had _really_ been up to besides courting some hopefully _real_ girl, where Prompto had gotten the bravery to become a legendary hunter—but Ignis seemed determined not to let him off easy.

“Aside from meeting with the Draconian, you never mentioned what else happened in the Crystal, Noct,” he observed casually, as though his question wasn’t the equivalent of a knife through the heart.

It wasn’t his fault, of course, but Noctis couldn’t help the twinge of discomfort that had him shifting his weight awkwardly in his seat. Ignis may not have been able to tell, and Prompto was generally clueless when it came to subtle physical cues (yet another constant after all this time), but Gladio stared at him with an unreadable expression as he tried to come up with a response to Ignis’s question. It was unnerving, and Noctis couldn’t hold his gaze for long.

“I don’t really remember much besides what I already told you,” he ended up saying, struggling to hide a wince at the lie.

Admittedly, he wasn’t offering them a complete falsehood: he truly _didn’t_ remember a great deal of his time inside the Crystal. He knew he’d spoken to the Draconian about what must be done next—which he refused to discuss right now—and felt the light, warm sensation of floating through oblivion. Other than that, though, there wasn’t much.

A slight pause followed his statement, and he felt sure that if Ignis could still see, he and Gladio would be exchanging a far too knowing glance right now. As it were, Ignis still tilted his head minutely in Gladio’s direction while the latter narrowed his eyes. If they had any reason to believe he was lying to them, however, they didn’t get a chance to say anything to him about it.

“Maaaaaaaaan,” whined Prompto, completely unaware of the tension that had been gathering between them. “I thought maybe it would be something _cool_.”

Noctis knew it would only be a matter of time before he would have to answer to Ignis and Gladio’s obvious distrust, but he would go with the distraction for as long as he could.

“You mean getting sucked into the Crystal and meeting an Astral wasn’t enough for you?”

Scoffing, Prompto argued, “Dude, we all got to see Astrals—didn’t need to be inside the Crystal for that. You got to meet, like, the _one_ god that didn’t want to kill us and you don’t even remember!”

“As I recall, Ramuh was rather agreeable,” countered Ignis reasonably. His tone was light, but his expression as he kept his head turned toward Noctis told him there would be more of that conversation to come.

Prompto scrunched up his face, clearly wanting to argue, but slumped when he realized that Ignis had him on that one. “Yeah, okay, point.”

From there, the tone of the discussion lightened considerably, and Noctis felt the weight of his burden lifting off his chest. There was still a shadow dogging his every step, but when he was with the others, he could set it aside for a minute and pretend that they were back on their journey to Altissia: sitting around the table by the caravan, swapping stories and barbs, young and eager and so very, very naïve. If he didn’t look too closely at the way the others had changed over the years, he could almost imagine that they were still those boys—and they _had_ been boys back then, as much as they may have thought themselves to be adults.

There had been so much in those days, days that seemed both far off and very near, that he hadn’t understood the importance of. He’d known he was the King of Kings, chosen to free Eos of the darkness that had plagued their star for centuries, but it hadn’t _meant_ anything. He’d been very well aware of the fact that he was destined to become king, yet he frequently avoided the subject because of the inevitable connection it had to the end of his father’s life.

He’d walked down the Citadel steps and ignored the warning signs as his father said his final goodbye, gave his final bit of advice, offered his final comforting touch. He’d walked away, never so much as guessing that it would be the end of the world as he’d known it and the start of a much more frightening existence.

He’d walked away without telling his father the two things he would always regret keeping to himself: _thank you_ and _I love you_.

Now, it was too late to fix his mistakes. All he could do was move forward, as Ignis had told him long ago in the middle of a swamp of all places, and never look back. That was what a monarch had to do. When he came to that realization, his childhood had officially reached an end. He’d left his friends behind and taken his first steps as an active participant in his own destiny. He’d gone to a place they couldn’t follow, and he hadn’t hesitated a moment. The last of his innocence had been stripped from him in his discovery of what Ardyn’s existence meant for his own and the sacrifice he must make to fulfill his duty; the man who had woken up on Angelgard was nothing like the boy who’d sat around a table playing King’s Knight with his friends.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to go back—to have more _time_.

The eternal clock of the universe wound ever onwards, though, and the moments before doomsday ticked by more rapidly than he ever could have imagined until Ignis reluctantly pointed out that they should get some sleep before setting out in the morning. No one was pleased to be reminded of their looming departure, but they couldn’t argue with his logic. So, with a few meaningful smiles and significant nods, they divvied up the bunks inside the caravan and went about settling in for the night. Noctis supposed that the others had spent enough time in ubiquitous darkness to know when it was time to sleep, but the long hours without sunlight still threw him off and he resigned himself to trusting their judgment.

Whether from the disorienting solar absence or simply because he had gotten ten years’ worth of rest, sleep didn’t come easy. It was all Noctis could do not to toss and turn, trying to avoid alerting his friends to his discomfort. He had a feeling they were all in the same boat: Prompto was far too still, Gladio’s breathing was irregular, and Ignis had abandoned all pretext to sit upright on his bunk with a pensive expression Noctis could see without needing the light. A pang of guilt and remorse added to his unease at the thought that his return had prompted their own restlessness; they’d presumably been doing just fine up until now since none of them were showing signs of a decade of sleeplessness. They knew what was coming, or at least part of it, and they were suffering for it already.

Noctis had no right to show them his weakness, not when they had gone through so much for him and in his name. None of them had asked for this—Ignis didn’t ask to lose his sight, or Prompto to be tortured, or Gladio to be Shield to a doomed king. Without him, they would be safe. Maybe they would even be happy. His very presence in their lives brought them nothing but turmoil and despair. He couldn’t very well pile his reservations on them as well.

Eventually, when he thought he might burst under the pressure of remaining still, Noctis gave up and rolled off his bunk onto silent feet. Sometime in the middle of his musings, it appeared that Prompto had finally fallen into a fitful doze, but he could hear the way Gladio’s breathing suddenly disappeared as soon as he’d gotten up. Ignis’s head was turned towards him, his unseeing eyes burning holes into Noctis’s until he couldn’t stand to be inside the caravan another moment. Without saying a word, he slipped out the door and closed it softly behind him. If one of them was getting any sleep, he wasn’t about to disturb it.

Outside, Hammerhead was quiet, just as it had been when he’d arrived. There were more guards on duty and fewer bystanders, which was one of the few ways he could tell it was the middle of the night. Given that the fences would buckle under the weight of a large enough (or enthusiastic enough) daemon, the lights in every building were still on to provide all the illumination they could get. As he strode past the diner, Noctis could see hunters sleeping on the floor with their jackets pulled over their heads to dim the overhead fluorescents as much as possible.

The guards paid Noctis little mind as he walked along the familiar path to the garage, only the occasional eye glancing in his direction before turning back out towards the darkness. When Talcott had driven them inside the fence, Noctis had been quick to tell him not to spread his return around right away. It wasn’t like there was any reason for his homecoming to remain a secret—if anything, it would probably have bolstered people a bit more, and there was no doubt in his mind that they could use it right about now. Regardless, Noctis wasn’t ready yet. There was already so much pressure on him not to mess this up that he didn’t think he could bear having every eye in Hammerhead watching him, waiting to see the great king they had been promised in all the legends. He hadn’t yet proven himself to be that person, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint them. They’d already gotten enough of that in his absence.

So, he basked in the anonymity for a while longer. He ignored the guards the same way they ignored him, finding an empty spot along the fence behind Cindy’s garage to ascend the steps to the watch post. Only a few moments passed before he regretted coming out here, but he couldn’t go back to the caravan and inflict his presence on the others.

It was the quiet that unnerved him more than the darkness, if he was being honest. When he’d gotten to Galdin, there hadn’t been time to notice it with all the daemons around. The growls and groans had played an eerie melody, joined with the harmonious engine in Talcott’s truck. Then they’d made it to Hammerhead, where there were conversations to be had and people moving about. Now, however, with most of the station asleep or on silent watch, the abyss pressed in on them to the point that Noctis felt suffocated by the void. It had been silent inside the Crystal, too, but not like this. There, it had been peaceful; here, it was an omen of the end.

Footsteps on the metal stairs behind him snapped his mind back to reality, reeling him away from the dark sense of foreboding he hadn’t realized he’d been drowning in as he stared out into the night. Not for a second did he believe his new companion was a guard, and a wry smirk twitched at the side of his mouth when a huge shadow fell over him in the spotlight.

_How poetic._

Gladio didn’t say anything at first, and they stood together in companionable yet expectant silence, as if each was waiting for the other to speak first. Noctis was determined not to let it be him, though, so he waited until Gladio was tired of beating around the proverbial bush. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long.

“You never were a good liar, you know.”

Noctis blinked. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. The statement startled him into turning to look at his Shield, but Gladio didn’t return his gaze, staring out towards where a haven used to light up the distant wilderness instead. A lifetime ago, Noctis would have evaded his accusation or jumped to defend himself. Not anymore.

“I didn’t lie,” he asserted carefully. Gladio let out a huff of mingled amusement and exasperation.

“Sure didn’t tell the truth either.”

_He’s got me there._

When Noctis didn’t immediately reply, Gladio finally shot him a knowing look. There was no condemnation in his gaze, though.

“We’ve been through this before,” he grunted once it became apparent that Noctis wasn’t going to address his original statement.

Frowning, he took the bait and asked, “Been through what?”

“You not telling us stuff.”

An image of Cartanica flashed through his mind’s eye, and Noctis inwardly grimaced at the memory. It wasn’t that he had been trying to hide anything from them then as he was now, though. Back then, he hadn’t known how to tell them what he was thinking. Admittedly, not a lot of his thoughts were very kingly. If Gladio had known then that Luna’s death and Ignis’s handicap just made him want to give up, to lie down and let Ardyn do what he would because Noctis _clearly_ wasn’t the king they all expected him to be… If he’d had the courage back then to tell Gladio he was nothing but an impostor pretending to be the King of Kings when he was nothing but a scared kid… Well, maybe they wouldn’t even be here right now. Whatever the year, wherever they were, there were some things that were simply better left unsaid.

After a minute, Noctis remembered that Gladio was waiting for a response and sighed, pushing his hair out of his face and wishing he could hide behind it the way he used to. “I told you, there isn’t much to tell.”

Gladio scoffed skeptically. “We both know that ain’t true.”

“What do you want me to say?” inquired Noctis. Impatience leaked into his tone as he fought hard not to sound like he was losing his temper. That, however, appeared to be Gladio’s aim.

“I want you to tell us what’s really going on.”

“I _did_.”

“Part of it.”

Narrowing his eyes, Noctis turned away and rejoined, “I told you guys everything worth saying.”

“So there _is_ more.”

Noctis growled low in his throat, pacing down the scaffolding as though he could leave his problems behind with Gladio. As it turned out, neither was willing to let him run away so easily.

“What is it?” Gladio demanded, just barely managing to keep his voice down. “What’s got you so wound up that you won’t even tell _us_?”

“It doesn’t concern you right now,” Noctis shot back without turning. His footsteps faltered when Gladio let out a bark of laughter.

“In case you haven’t figured it out, anything concerning _you_ concerns the rest of us.”

A weight settled on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. This time, it wasn’t the metaphorical weight of his destiny pressing down on him like it might smother him on its own. Rather, Gladio’s hand warmed Noctis’s shoulder where he’d been growing cold in the chill breeze, a comforting and welcome heaviness by comparison. There was a slight pause, and then Gladio moved to stand in front of him. Noctis found he couldn’t meet his eyes and focused on his sizable chest instead.

“You’re the king now. You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to. But…we’re here for you. Always have been, always will be. Just let us, would ya?”

His words weren’t harsh or angry; instead he spoke with a softness he hadn’t used with Noctis since he was a kid. That more than anything else was what began to melt his resolve, but he caught himself at the last moment before he took that final step he would never be able to rescind. Pulling in a tremulous breath, he finally raised his eyes to Gladio’s and struggled to summon whatever excuse for a smile he could. It must have been pretty pathetic if the sadness in his Shield’s eyes was any indication.

“I know, and I want to, but…” He hesitated, closing his eyes and clearing the emotion from his throat.

Gladio let him have a minute, then two. When enough time had passed that it began to lose all meaning, Noctis finally found the strength within him—the strength his father must have had the day he sent away his only son, knowing they would never again meet—to continue.

“Just…one more day. Please, Gladio,” he pleaded with the ground at their feet since he couldn’t beg the Astrals. “One more day.”

Noctis wasn’t really sure what he was asking for—one more day to live, one more day with them, one more day before he had to tell them the rest of his tale? All he knew was that one more day wasn’t nearly enough for everything he so desperately wanted, but it was all they had time for, so it was all he would ask.

The hand on his shoulder tightened until it was almost painful, and as much as he hadn’t wanted to say anything, he knew Gladio understood the gravity of his words. If it were Ignis here with him, he probably would have figured out what Noctis was hiding from them by now; when Gladio inevitably told him about this exchange the second Noctis’s back was turned, he undoubtedly would. If his Shield suspected anything about what remained unsaid in the air between them, he mercifully didn’t bring it up, and Noctis lifted his head again to see him nodding slowly. It wasn’t in comprehension, at least not completely, but in sympathy—in camaraderie. Even if he didn’t understand, he _understood_.

“One more day,” confirmed Gladio quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, a couple of notes:
> 
> 1\. In the game, the boys talk about a potentially serious relationship Gladio is in after resting at the caravan in Hammerhead in Chapter Fourteen. That is where this part of the conversation comes from. The snoring is entirely my own.
> 
> 2\. I've seen many people theorizing that Angelgard was a prison used by the Six in an attempt to subdue Ardyn. Although I feel there may be something to that theory, I've also noticed in the glitched versions of the game that the island looks a bit like a throne with the prison as the seat, where perhaps an Astral might either sit to keep watch or sit in exile (Ifrit, maybe?). I'm not sure that either theory is true, but it stood to reason that Noctis might think so given his recent run in with Bahamut. 
> 
> 3\. It always tickled me that the entire world has succumbed to darkness--but the Cup Noodles sign is still on. It had to make an appearance in this chapter.


	2. Between Sorrow and Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! As you can see, a third chapter has been added to this story. I originally planned for only two, but then I wrote it. So, it'll be a bit longer than expected--I hope you don't mind. ;)
> 
> Some of the dialogue at the end of this chapter is taken directly from the game; everything else is my own. Please note that there are minor spoilers for the "Parting Ways" novel. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Noctis woke up to darkness.

It took a minute for him to remind himself that this was the new normal and the clouds outside belonged here far more than he did. That didn’t stem the surge of bitterness that ate at his heart from the injustice of it all. No matter how warm the caravan was or how friendly the smell of breakfast sizzling away behind him, he still felt like an outsider—no, a _wanderer_ , a transient being that was here for now only to be gone come the light of morning. The darkness outside only served as a reminder of what lay ahead.

That wasn’t something he could tell the others, though, nor was it a thought befitting a king. With a sigh, he pulled his legs up to his chest and expelled the idea from his mind.

A few years ago, he probably would have bristled at the notion that what went on in his own head was somehow proof of his inability to rule. Hell, he and Gladio had been at each other’s throats over it for weeks, and that was only counting their explosion after Altissia. It had come up before, although much of his childhood had been spent ignoring such arguments in favor of gorging himself with video games and junk food to delay the inevitable. That was part of Gladio’s job, to remind him of his duty; even if it wasn’t, he would have done it anyway because he was a good friend and very willing to crack a few eggs if it meant helping Noctis become the king he needed to be.

Noctis wasn’t sure when he’d traversed the invisible threshold between needing that push (or, in Gladio’s case, _shove_ ) in the right direction and being able to see it for himself. Nevertheless, as he huddled under the blanket and pretended that he had the time to waste, he was well aware that he’d left the reluctant prince behind somewhere along the line. The difference was jarring even in his own mind, and it made him that much more certain that he must have reached such a critical milestone during his time in the Crystal. When you spent ten years reflecting on everything you’d ever done—every place you’d ever gone, person you’d ever met, terrible outfit you’d ever worn—you realized just how much garbage took up space in your head that could have been put to better use.

You also realized just how much those people, places, and outfits meant to you. There was no use dwelling on that, though, otherwise he might never get out of his bunk again.

So, with a herculean effort, Noctis didn’t wait for Ignis to come wake him the way he would have ten years earlier. As nice as it would have been to laze about until Ignis heaved a long-suffering sigh, set an alarm, and stuck it right next to his ear, they didn’t have the time for that. The sun may not have been warning them along with its subtle trek across the sky, but Noctis could feel it in his heart without the visual reminder. They should go.

Noctis pushed aside his blanket and sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and stretching out the kinks that had settled low in his back overnight. He may not have remembered _getting_ to thirty years old, but man, was he ever feeling it.

 _It’s not_ that _old,_ he grumbled to himself with a roll of his eyes. Of course, he also had the Ring of the Lucii drawing on whatever life it could suck out of him before it was all gone, so he really did have an excuse.

“Noct?”

His eyes snapped up to see Ignis leaning towards the bunk without turning away from the stove, a small crease between his eyebrows, and Noctis realized he must have been muttering under his breath in his irritation. He scratched the back of his neck, mildly embarrassed, and called back, “Yeah?”

Ignis hummed. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to wake for a while yet.”

“What time is it?”

“Not nearly late enough to be within your normal parameters.”

Chuckling under his breath, Noctis rolled off the mattress only to hiss in pain the moment he put his weight on his left leg. He heard Ignis’s concerned inquiry as to his welfare, but he didn’t answer immediately as he sat back down and bent forward to massage his knee. The pain was like the sharp stabbing of needles, not harsh but just enough to unsteady him on his feet. He cast his mind back, trying to remember whether he’d injured himself on his journey from Galdin to Hammerhead or perhaps tripped over something as he and Gladio made their way back to the caravan earlier that morning. Nothing jumped out at him. Well, not until a memory rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind: seeing his father on television carrying a cane for the first time. From there, it had been a steady decline until he required a brace for the briefest of strolls.

Noctis swallowed hard, his eyes drawn to the ring where it stood out starkly against the pale skin of his right hand. It stared innocently back at him, as if it was nothing more than a piece of jewelry, a scrap of metal and crystal. He knew better, though. There was no reason for him to jump to conclusions, not when doing so had brought him nothing but trouble in the past, and yet…

_Don’t go there._

With an uneasy frown, Noct cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from the imminent death he wore proudly as his birthright. It was a good thing Ignis couldn’t see the expression on his face, otherwise his lie would have been far less convincing.

“Sorry, just…tripped. It’s nothing.”

Ignis didn’t answer for a moment—a _long_ moment. Their breakfast still simmered on the burner, a combination of meat and eggs (without vegetables, thank goodness) that Noctis assumed would eventually become omelets, but Ignis had moved the pan off the heat to frown worriedly in Noctis’s direction. It was unnerving to say the least, especially when it felt like Ignis was staring straight into his very soul without having to see a thing, but Noctis held his ground and made sure to keep his breathing even.

When he showed no further signs of distress, Ignis hesitantly turned back to his task with a quiet, “Very well,” and Noctis slumped in exhausted triumph.

He felt like a teenager again, sneaking around behind Ignis’s back and hoping his advisor was none the wiser. This was far different than slipping out of his room in the middle of the night or staying out with Prompto too late and not getting a chance to study for an exam, though. The stakes were higher now, and Noctis couldn’t afford to keep everything from Ignis for too long—not that he harbored any delusions about the fact that Ignis _definitely_ figured out the truth every damn time he tried to pull a fast one as a kid. In all likelihood, he was no more successful now than then, but Ignis wasn’t calling him on it just yet, so he would take it while he could.

Once he was sure Ignis was at least seventy-five percent invested in his cooking again (when Noctis was around, it was impossible for him to provide anything else with his undivided attention), he cautiously scooted to the edge of the mattress and settled a bit of weight onto his left leg.

Nothing.

Testing, Noctis gradually pushed himself onto his feet, holding a hand out in case his knee gave way beneath him. He needn’t have worried, however, because the pain didn’t return this time. The muscle around the bottom of his thigh was still weak, but he could chalk that up to sleeping on it wrong. For a brief moment, he thought that maybe he’d imagined it was something worse. It wouldn’t be unheard of for someone to hallucinate in themselves a flaw they’d witnessed in their parents, would it?

He had to roll his eyes at his own excuse the second it occurred to him. This wasn’t a matter of big ears or crooked teeth, and he knew it. Still, his body shouldn’t have started failing him for some time yet if his father was any example. Maybe it was another sign from the gods that it was time to get this over with; he couldn’t risk taking on Ardyn in anything less than perfect condition.

Noctis cringed inwardly at the idea before forcing those thoughts out of his mind for now. There would be plenty of time to worry about that as they prepared to depart from Hammerhead. _As a matter of fact…_

Stepping up beside Ignis and leaning against the counter, he inquired, “Where are the others?”

“Gladio went to scout the perimeter while Prompto replenishes our supply of curatives.”

“Good idea.”

Ignis nodded in agreement. “I doubt that anything left to find in the Crown City will be of much use after all this time. It’s best to go prepared.”

“Right,” mumbled Noctis, staring down at the floor. Thoughts of what Insomnia would look like had plagued his dreams, but he couldn’t deny the restless excitement that stirred in his gut at the idea of finally going home.

Whether Ignis felt the same way, Noctis couldn’t tell. He kept his voice and expression carefully neutral when he continued, “Breakfast should be ready shortly. After that, we have one last order of business to see to before we can depart.”

“And what might that be?” asked Noctis tentatively. The corner of Ignis’s mouth twitched, but he was otherwise stoic as ever.

“You will have to wait and see.”

Noctis couldn’t help it: the response was so much like when they were kids and he would _beg_ Ignis to tell him something he wasn’t supposed to know that it made him laugh. They would get into all manner of trouble together after Noctis’s injury—well, after he’d _healed_ , anyway—and although Ignis had been reluctant at first to accompany him on his forays into the city (when they definitely shouldn’t have been out), he’d eventually come around. Noctis never found out the reason, but he’d always convinced himself that Ignis finally found his adventurous side after so many years of stiff suits and even stiffer instructors. There would be nights when Ignis would knock quietly on his door and Noctis would open it to find him frowning, as if he knew what they were going to do was a terrible idea and was willing to do it anyway. On those nights, when Noctis would ask where they were going, all Ignis would tell him was that he would have to wait and see—whether they sneaked out into the gardens or chased stray cats that wandered into the Citadel or went outside the grounds to play or train, it was always the same. _You will have to wait and see._

At the sound of Noctis’s nostalgic chuckles, Ignis smiled down at the omelets he was flipping into perfect crescents, and Noctis had a feeling he was reminiscing as well.

_Those were the good days. Wish I’d known that at the time._

If he had, he certainly would have appreciated those nights far more. Now he could only look back on them as fond memories, ones that Ignis would be able to add to even if he couldn’t. And that was all right. It had to be.

Just like that, his good humor evaporated in the air between them, and Ignis seemed to sense the shift in the atmosphere immediately. He tilted his chin a few degrees in Noctis’s direction as he flipped off the heat, nodding in the direction of a stack of plates standing by on the counter. Taking a deep breath, Noctis pushed away his dark thoughts and forced himself to smile. They may not have had much time left, but he would make the most of each second of it while he could.

So, he helped Ignis plate their breakfast and walked it out to the table beside the caravan just as Prompto was returning. Noctis’s eyes widened in what he figured must have been a pretty comical way when he saw just how many curatives Prompto had managed to bring back, the vials overflowing from the bags he was hefting on both arms.

“Not sure we needed the whole store,” Noctis observed, fighting a smile at Prompto’s grumpy glare.

“Says _you_ ,” he countered with a grunt of exertion. He heaved the bags onto one of the chairs with all the caution he could manage to avoid breaking the merchandise. “It’s bad enough out here. I don’t even wanna _know_ what we’ll find in the city.”

Noctis nodded and stepped closer to sift through the bags. Elixirs, phoenix downs, antidotes—Prompto had thought of everything.

And, apparently, he hadn’t spared any expense.

“Dare I ask just how much gil you parted with?” asked Ignis lightly, settling in his seat and crossing his legs primly. Noctis knew Prompto hated when he did that, especially while he was asking a question. Not long after he and Ignis had been introduced, he’d confided in Noctis that it made him feel like he was on trial for something. Considering the fact that Ignis was essentially in charge of vetting anyone who came within ten feet of Noctis at the time, he didn’t have the heart to tell him that his fears were spot on.

Some things really hadn’t changed a bit, it seemed, because Prompto immediately deflated with a grimace even under Ignis’s sightless gaze. “Uh…”

Ignis sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

“Wait, you mean they’re still charging gil for that stuff?” Noctis demanded incredulously.

“You’re surprised?” snorted a voice approaching from behind.

Gladio joined them a moment later, rolling his eyes at Noctis’s question and collapsing into one of the unoccupied chairs with an ironic grin. The latter felt a twinge of guilt at how tired his Shield looked, knowing that he would probably have gotten more rest if he hadn’t been chasing after Noctis all night. His apologetic half smile went either unnoticed or ignored, however, as Gladio continued, “Supply and demand. After everything went dark, they jacked the prices _up_.”

Slowly shaking his head, Noctis murmured, “Un. Believable.”

“Business is business, bro,” shrugged Prompto, who had already grabbed a plate off the table and was currently spewing egg as he answered through his mouthful. “Gotta make a living somehow.”

“I guess I just thought they’d be more understanding given the circumstances.”

Ignis, who had a sixth sense for any sort of mess and held out a napkin to Prompto in thinly veiled exasperation, replied, “They did at the beginning, mostly at the insistence of the Meldacio hunters. Over time, however, business resumed as usual. There is very little competition anymore, and supply is limited.”

“Iggy even had to start going without his Ebony,” Gladio added, his grin widening with Ignis’s obvious displeasure at the reminder. In his mind’s eye, Noctis could see himself passing Ignis his morning miracle from the backseat of the Regalia and felt his insides seize up at the thought that Ignis had lost yet another thing that meant so much to him.

Apparently, the absence of his favorite drink had grown to be something of a joke between the other three in the years he’d been absent, and Ignis shook his head in grudging amusement while they teased him.

“Yeah, those first days were _tough_ ,” Prompto joined in. He used one hand to wipe his mouth as the other slapped Ignis’s back. Gladio barked out a laugh.

“Thought he was going through withdrawal for a while there. Couldn’t say anything around ‘im.”

“My lack of patience for your foolishness had nothing to do with my daily caffeine intake,” argued Ignis with all the dignity he could muster. “Besides, as I remember it, _I_ wasn’t the one who went scavenging just to find coffee.”

Prompto had the grace to look a _little_ abashed at that. Not much, but a little. “Seriously, man? I just wanted to cheer you up!”

“Getting yourself mauled by daemons in the process was rather counterproductive in that regard.”

“Hey, I got the goods, didn’t I?”

“And _I_ inherited the cleanup.”

“Only ‘cause you’re the best at it.”

“How kind of you.”

“Anytime, dude.”

As they continued to trade jokes about the years Noctis had missed, he found himself smiling at the sight. Talcott hadn’t been averse to telling him that they weren’t as close in the last decade, that they’d separated and spent little time together. The thought was…unnerving. If all it took to tear their group apart was his own absence, what would happen after…

 _After_.

This moment—this back and forth, this laughter, this catharsis—this gave him hope. This made him think that maybe things would be all right after he was gone. Maybe they would have it better. No more waiting, no more damning faith that their king would return, no more endless purgatory as the years passed unchanging. Their lives could go on without Noctis holding them back, and they could continue to grow and thrive the way they would have if they never had to worry about him to begin with. If things just stayed like this, if they could keep laughing the same way they were now…things would be okay. He would have to hope it was enough.

“Uh, earth to Noct!”

Shaking his head, Noctis tuned back in to the conversation with a bashful smile when he saw the others had obviously been waiting for him to reply to…something.

“Sorry, what?”

Rolling his eyes, Prompto grinned, “I _said_ , we’ve got a surprise for you.”

Noctis blinked. “Is…now really the time for that?”

“We figured it’s as good a time as any,” shrugged Gladio as he set aside his empty plate and stood.

In his preoccupation, Noctis had barely thought to finish his now cold omelet, but he was intrigued enough not to mind. There would be plenty of time to eat later, so he tossed his breakfast back on the table (the plate was clearly too heavy for his lack of appetite to escape Ignis’s disapproving notice) and followed the others as they guided him away from the caravan towards the other end of Hammerhead.

Unlike the night before, there were hunters all over the place as the day dragged on. Noctis was beginning to see how they could tell: just the slightest flicker of light was visible behind the particles hiding the sky from view, and he could only assume it was the sun trying to peek through at them, to tell them that it was still up there waiting for the day it would be allowed to greet Eos once more. It was brighter than the dim luminescence he’d seen the night before, though it wasn’t enough to make a dent in the shadows surrounding them.

Talcott hadn’t been kidding about the _slayer station_ Hammerhead had become. While Noctis had noticed a great deal the previous day, he hadn’t been there long enough to see the changing of the guard. Now that the night had passed and the sorry excuse for day had arrived, most of the hunters he’d seen previously were gone, replaced by new ones. They’d obviously been outside the gates for a while, and Noctis felt a pang of remorse for the time he’d been gone when he saw how badly off they were. Some were bleeding, some were exhausted—others were weeping over mangled limbs stained black with what Noctis could only assume was the Starscourge.

He suddenly remembered Talcott’s words about hunters getting hurt or _worse_. At the time, Noctis had thought he was referring to death. Now that he got a closer look at the other fates they might face… He had to admit that it wasn’t something he’d expected to see here in Lucis, even as his brain told him it was a reasonable conclusion.  

Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto didn’t appear to feel the same trepidation he did in the presence of such suffering. It had to be old hat to them, though; they’d spent long enough seeing it with their own eyes, or hearing about it in Ignis’s case. They didn’t bother making eye contact with any of the poor souls they passed, steering clear of them—especially the infected ones. With no more Oracle, it wasn’t smart to get too close. Anyone afflicted was already looking at a death sentence unless Noctis could somehow defeat Ardyn first.

 _No telling whether that’ll help them if they’re too far gone_ , he warned himself sternly, trying to remember what Ignis had told him all those years ago in Fodina Caestino. Whatever happened, he couldn’t look back. Whatever happened, all he could do was his best and deal with the consequences.

The one place in Hammerhead that appeared to be off limits to the hunters was the garage itself, which was still shut up tight the same as it had been the night before. Noctis frowned at Gladio in silent question when they approached the huge metal doors, but his Shield was as forthcoming with information as Ignis had been earlier. Based on the glimmer of humor in his eyes, however, Noctis assumed he didn’t have anything to worry about as Prompto slid the door open just wide enough for them to pass.

For a second, Noctis was expecting some grand weapon or a car they could take into the city rather than having to walk through daemon-infested darkness the way he knew the others were secretly dreading. Instead, the garage was empty when Gladio flipped on the lights. Well, not entirely: there were spare parts piled up here and there that could be used to repair vehicles or craft weapons in a pinch, but nothing he would have classified as a _surprise_.

Then Prompto emerged from the office holding four familiar black garment bags like a trophy, and Noctis practically felt his jaw unhinge in its rapid descent towards the floor. Before he knew what he was doing, he took a few steps forward until he stood right in front of Prompto, one hand reaching out to tough the luggage in utter awe.

“How…?”

“We can’t very well have our king ascending the throne in pauper’s garments,” murmured Ignis behind him. Noctis shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the only piece of home he had left that wasn’t trying to kill him. He couldn’t even bring himself to take offense to Ignis’s gentle ribbing.

“But…we left these in the Regalia.”

“We returned for them.”

Before Noctis could open his mouth to protest at the very thought of their past selves taking such an unnecessary risk just to get some _clothes_ , Gladio’s hand squeezed his shoulder to stop him.

“Gralea wasn’t completely overrun,” he explained quietly, as if raising his voice might somehow offend the royal garments. “With Ardyn gone and Zegnautus out of commission, the daemons weren’t as strong.”

“Neither were the MTs,” Prompto added when he saw Noctis was still not appeased. That was at least a bit comforting, but still, something didn’t add up.

“How did you even make it back to Lucis?” he asked, finally managing to pull his attention away long enough to see Gladio smirking down at him.

“Biggs and Wedge. Turns out they weren’t so bad after all.”

Frowning, Noctis remembered, “I thought they ran…”

“They did,” confirmed Ignis. “Do you remember the transceivers we received from the first secretary when we left Altissia?”

“Yeah. What about them?”

“Once the daemon hordes subsided, they were able to contact us. We gathered what we could from the Regalia and rejoined them. As it happens, the MTs were not the only ones that knew how to fly a Magitek engine.”

“From there, it was simple making it back to the boat,” finished Gladio. Prompto snorted.

“Cid was getting pretty antsy by the time we got there. We thought he might just leave without us.”

“At least you still would’ve had a way back if he did,” observed Noctis reluctantly with a small smile. That definitely sounded like Cid, all right.

“Yeah, flying around in an MT ship—not really something I ever wanted to do.”

Noctis couldn’t blame him there. “Talcott said they teamed up with Aranea to take down the daemons?”

“More or less,” nodded Ignis, folding his arms with a smirk. “After all they did, it seems callous to call them her subordinates any longer. They have joined the fight against the daemons in their own right, however.”

 _That_ had to be a hell of a sight. It wasn’t that Noctis thought their two train engineers _couldn’t_ do it, but… Well, they hadn’t been much help when it came to fighting daemons back in the day. Of course, given how many other things had changed over the years, they were probably legendary hunters like Iris now if Talcott was to be believed.

A large part of Noctis still wanted to rebuke his friends for their foolishness in not getting out of Gralea the second they had the chance. He wanted to tell them that clothing just wasn’t worth it, especially if it meant Cid possibly leaving without them. The other part, however, couldn’t deny that he was relieved and even grateful for the risk they’d taken. It was a small thing, trivial really, and yet…they were from _home_. The thought of dying, no matter how unsavory, was suddenly made marginally less daunting when he knew he would do so in his own home with his own (hopefully not as dirty) clothes. When faced with the end, maybe it was the trivial things that really counted.

So, words failing him, Noctis could do nothing more than smile at the others and hope they heard his gratitude in the deep breath he inhaled when he reached for the zipper of the garment bag Prompto held out to him. In a way, he was reticent to open it—doing so meant the end of his old life for good and the beginning of the new, vastly shorter one.

And it was, just…not in the way he expected.

“What the…?”

Gladio whistled quietly. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?” asked Ignis, stepping forward until he was at Noctis’s side.

The latter couldn’t answer him right away as he slowly shook his head from side to side in complete bafflement at the sight before him.

When they left Insomnia behind, it had been with the understanding that Noctis was going to be married. As such, his father had informed him that appropriate garments for his wedding would be waiting for him in the trunk of the Regalia. Noctis hadn’t questioned it, just agreed with a sigh and never bothered to look at what he would be expected to wear as he took the next step towards what should have been peace. He’d assumed that the outfit would be along the same lines as what his father had worn in the pictures of his own wedding, the ones he kept locked away for fear of dredging up painful memories: a dark suit with the honorary medals of his station, crossed with a gold sash. It would be more militaristic than his usual battle gear while maintaining the formality of the finest suit. Every king before him had worn something similar, and he’d had no doubt that the tradition would be upheld when it was his turn.

That wasn’t what he found in the garment bag. Rather, a black suit awaited him, still immaculately pressed despite the passing of the years. A scabbard was slung over the hanger with his fine slacks, although it would be more for decoration than anything else given his ability to summon his Armiger. Arranged neatly over the shirt and jacket was a cape befitting a king, with familiar gold ornaments and an uneven hem just like the one his father had always worn.

Because this suit wasn’t made for his wedding. It was for his ascension.

Just like that, he wished he’d taken the time to look before he’d left Insomnia. He wished he could have stopped feeling bitter about the treaty for _one goddamn minute_ to see the evidence of their ruin before any of this ever happened.

But then again, maybe it was better this way. If he’d looked, he would never have left. As terrible as the events that followed the fall were, things may have been even worse had he remained in the Crown City.

_“One cannot lead by standing still. A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.”_

Noctis swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat, his hand finding Ignis’s shoulder in silent thanks for his strength when he’d needed it most—for his strength _now_ , when the end was so very near. At first, he wasn’t sure what to say. Then the words found their way without conscious thought.

“A last gift from my dad,” Noctis answered in hushed tones, as though speaking any louder before his kingly raiment would somehow dispel the illusion. Fingers trembling slightly, he reached forward to touch the ornaments hanging gracefully over his cape. The gold clashed with the black metal of the ring, but it didn’t seem discordant. It felt… _right_.

It felt right when they checked the other bags to find Kingsglaive attire that hadn’t been seen in the world for ten long years, a tribute to the dead and a badge of honor for those among the living destined to don them. It felt right when they sealed the bags again and Prompto draped them over his arm for safekeeping until they were prepared.

It felt right, and it felt like they were ready. Like _Noctis_ was finally ready.

With that thought in mind, he reminded the others of their bargain: to depart with the arrival of the morning. It was a bit later than he would have liked, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it when they readied themselves to set out for Insomnia around noon. The inevitability that lay ahead looming over them, he reveled in the last few moments he could spend saying his farewells to Talcott—words that would carry more meaning when all this was over—and giving Umbra one last scratch behind the ears before ordering him to stay put.

And when they were finally ready to open the gate and step out into the darkness together, Noctis’s steps were light. Yes, they were still dogged by the idea that the moment was nearing when he would have to tell his friends the whole truth and his goodbyes along with it, but for now he was at peace with the road before him and what awaited at the end.

As if they could sense his mood, the others allowed themselves to relax even in the dire situation they knew they were all walking into. They turned down the road towards Insomnia, putting the lights of Hammerhead behind them, and were still able to laugh.

“Well, fellas, we’re homeward bound at last,” declared Gladio, stretching out his arms in preparation for the long journey through who knew what. “Time to suit up.”

Grinning in bittersweet anticipation, Prompto agreed, “Finally get to rock these threads.” Ignis nodded, more somber than the rest.

“Wear them with pride.”

“Yeah, just hope they still fit,” murmured Noctis.

With Prompto snickering behind him, he led the way forward. The distant sounds of daemons didn’t hold the terror they once did, but given all they’d endured thus far, it was hardly surprising. Their first encounter didn’t come long after they left Hammerhead, and they made short work of the iron giants that barred their way before continuing on. It wasn’t until Gladio and Ignis were well ahead of them that Prompto tapped Noctis on the shoulder, his expression apprehensive for the first time since Noctis had suggested they leave so soon.

“What’s up?” he asked, lowering his voice so their words stayed between the two of them. For whatever reason, it didn’t appear that Prompto wanted Gladio and Ignis to hear, and he was willing to respect that.

It took a minute before Prompto could respond, and he kept his eyes trained on the road under their feet as he struggled to choose the right words. Noctis almost prompted him again when he finally pulled his camera out of his pocket.

“I don’t think you’ll get enough light out here for a selfie,” Noctis pointed out with a quirked eyebrow. Prompto chuckled.

“Duh, dude. Doesn’t take a pro to figure that out,” he replied, bumping their shoulders together good-naturedly to take the sting out of his words. Noctis rolled his eyes as he pressed on, “I wanted to show you something, but…I wasn’t sure it was the right time. Back there. So. Here.”

Prompto awkwardly shoved the camera into his hands, and Noctis frowned down at the picture on the screen. “Where’d…you get this?”

“It was in the Regalia with all the clothes,” he explained, glancing anxiously at Ignis and Gladio’s backs to make sure they were still out of earshot. “I, uh… I put it with the rest of your new duds. In case, y’know… In case you needed it.”

Noctis wasn’t sure what to say to that. Did he tell Prompto about the muscle spasms in his left knee the further they walked? Did he confide in him that the more he used the ring against the daemons they encountered, the weaker and more unsteady he felt on his feet? Or did he brush it off and act like nothing was wrong, just like he’d done with his tale of the Draconian?

Ultimately, he chose the middle road. With one last glance at the leg brace Prompto had squirreled away for him, Noctis handed back the camera and clapped him on the shoulder. He could only hope his full gratitude was obvious when he said, “Thank you, Prompto.”

He could only hope it was enough to reach the heavens as he thought, _Thank you, Dad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! A few notes...
> 
> 1) The reason this will now be three chapters is because of Noct's leg. I genuinely didn't plan to write that in, but it hit me as I started the chapter and I realized that we never get an explanation for the brace besides aesthetics, so this is what I feel could be the case. Given that the crew isn't shown in full garb during the final campsite, I left them changing clothes out for now. They'll do that in the next chapter.  
> 2) The mention of sneaking out of the Citadel with Ignis is from "Parting Ways." Ignis and Noct discuss the fact that after his injury, Noct felt suffocated in his room and frequently slipped out with Ignis in tow. Apparently, Ignis was the one to get in trouble for spiriting him away. Poor Iggy.  
> 3) Given that game logic is different than real life logic, there's obviously some discrepancy between the fact that they have garment bags in this story and don't in the game. Sadly, writing doesn't lend itself well to the mystical magical pocket-size item organization you have in the main menu of a video game. If only, if only.  
> 4) Umbra was intentionally left behind for a couple of reasons, only one of which I'll mention here: he wasn't in Insomnia with the group after leaving Hammerhead, so I assume he stayed behind. I will explain the other reason in the notes of a different story I am very much _not_ looking forward to writing. :D  
>  5) The mention of shops still charging gil in a post-apocalyptic world is something I personally found rather interesting. The world has literally ended, but...you still have to pay 30 gil to stay at the caravan in Hammerhead? Sigh. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read and provide feedback! I love hearing what you think and your ideas. It really is invaluable, and I appreciate it more than words can say. :)


	3. Stay the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There are **MAJOR** endgame spoilers ahead and minor "Brotherhood" ones.

In the end, it was Ignis who forced Noctis’s hand. Admittedly, he didn’t mean to do it. His question should have had a simple answer; any other time, it would have. But this wasn’t any other time, and the clock was running out fast now that they were within sight of Insomnia.

And what a sight it was. They’d fought their way through the same ruinous labyrinth until they reached the overlook, just as they had the day they discovered what Noctis’s father had been desperately attempting to hide from them. If it were possible, the darkness seemed deeper here than the stretch of barren waste outside of Hammerhead. Maybe it was their proximity to Ardyn or just Noctis’s imagination playing tricks on him, but he felt as though they’d sunk into the deepest abyss when he looked out over the water to see and hear nothing at all. He remembered the last time they stood in the same spot with unfailing accuracy: the smoke in the distance, the imperial airships flying over the Crown City, the water flowing beneath them like it could wash away the stench of betrayal. Now there was nothing left but the barest indication of a skyline in the distance, hardly visible against the clouds of photophilic particles hanging heavy in the air. He had known, of course, that the sight of home could never be the welcome one he would have hoped for. It still stung to finally witness it in person.

Knowing and seeing were two very different things, and Noctis found himself unspeakably exhausted for the first time since he’d woken up on Angelgard. It was like he’d been carrying a weight on every limb, allowing them to gradually drag him down the further he hauled them. His bones and muscles hurt in ways he’d never experienced before; his joints ached like he had aged far past his years. Although he refused to say it aloud, even to Prompto, he was beyond grateful that the latter brought the leg brace his father had apparently seen fit to include with his kingly raiment. If just this short venture towards Insomnia was any indication, he would be needing it sooner rather than later.

That was why, against his better judgment, he slipped the Ring of the Lucii off his finger not long after making it to camp.

At first, no one noticed. Prompto was too busy sputtering incredulously at the idea that they were going to spend the night at the overlook, which was as unprotected as the rest of the havens in the plague of shadows and daemons infesting Eos. As usual, Gladio made light of the situation.

“Camping’s camping,” he’d huffed while setting up the tent, leering at Prompto over his shoulder. “We’ll just make a bigger fire and let _you_ guard the place until morning.”

That, of course, didn’t go over well.

Still, it made for a good distraction so that Noctis could find a moment of relative privacy to remove the burden he carried like a badge of honor. He knew that it was unlikely to make much of a difference now that he had officially bonded with the ring—or whatever the kings or the Six wanted to call it—but it was worth a try if it meant being able to breathe a little easier for the next few hours. Whether it was a trick of the mind or genuine respite, Noctis felt like someone had surgically removed the weight of the world from his shoulders as the metal parted ways with his finger, and he couldn’t help sighing in relief at how light he felt by comparison.

“Does it hurt?”

Noctis froze in place at Ignis’s question with his hand still stuck in his pocket, his fist closing around the Ring of the Lucii until the crystal ornament cut painfully into his palm.

Closing his eyes, he cursed silently and wondered how the hell Ignis had figured out that his body seemed to be betraying him with every step he took. He hadn’t said anything, had he? He had been careful not to make any noise of discomfort along their route, although he knew he hadn’t done such a spectacular job of hiding his grimaces now and again. Fortunately for him, Prompto and Gladio had been otherwise engaged in taking down the plethora of daemons they’d encountered along the way, so his pain had gone unnoticed. How, then, did Ignis know?

“Uh…?”

A few feet away, Ignis paused in setting up the grill to clarify, “The ring—does it hurt?”

 _Stupid_ , Noctis chided his paranoia wordlessly. Of course Ignis hadn’t discovered the extent of his misfortune just yet. It was still a bit awkward that he was somehow aware of Noctis divesting himself of the ring, but it wasn’t as bad a revelation as he’d feared.

Regardless, the sensation of weightlessness evaporated as quickly as it had arrived, leaving a cold void in his chest that desperately desired to be filled. Noctis tried to swallow down his sudden apprehension, turning to see Ignis expertly lighting the grill as he’d done a thousand times before. The way he kept tilting his head up in Noctis’s direction, however, indicated that this wasn’t a subject he would be letting go of and an answer would be expected. Preferably _now_.

“Well…it doesn’t _hurt_. Not exactly,” Noctis tried to explain. With a tired sigh, he shrugged. “It’s more exhausting than anything else.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Ignis settled a skillet over one of the burners and coated it in oil. “I expected as much. The ring took a great toll on the king, as did constantly drawing on the Crystal’s power to fabricate the Wall. Are you well enough to fight?”

The question was matter-of-fact, laced with the slightest hint of concern, but Noctis still felt it like a punch to the gut. How old had he been when Ignis first told him his father had lost the ability to summon weapons—fifteen? Sixteen? Something like that. He’d been using the ring for decades by that point, though; despite his misgivings about his own stamina, Noctis knew there was no way he was _that_ far gone just yet.

“Not like there’s any other choice, but I’m fine in the thick of things. It’s harder when we slow down—I feel like I could sleep for _ever_.”

“Ha, ‘cause ten years wasn’t enough!”

Prompto slapped him on the back as he veered around Noctis to deliver a stack of four bowls to Ignis. When he turned back around, his smile was thin and eyes wary, like maybe he thought Noctis really _might_ just give in to that temptation.

Noctis wouldn’t have said he was necessarily waiting for a _sign_ , but if he was going to get one, that was as good as any. _I’ve gotta tell them…_

All of a sudden, he didn’t feel like a king anymore. Hell, he didn’t even feel like a _prince_. He was transported back to when he was a child, to one of the numerous times he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t only to endure the weight of his father’s disappointment as his penance. Just as they had back then, his eyes sought out the safety of the ground—it they stayed there, no one would be able to see his guilt, his agony, his anger. If they stayed there, he wouldn’t have to see their reactions.

So, he stared at the ground and dug the toe of his boot into the dirt as he cleared the lump from his throat and murmured, “Listen, guys… There’s… There’s something I—“

“Noct.”

The words died on his lips at the sound of Gladio’s gentle but insistent interjection, and Noctis turned to see him standing mere inches away, his muscular arms folded over his chest as he stared blankly at the three of them. Noctis tried unsuccessfully to read what he was thinking, but it was like staring at a brick wall for all he was able to glean from his expression.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe now’s a good time to get changed. With all the daemons around, we might have to leave in a hurry.”

“Uh…” Noctis glanced back over his shoulder to see Prompto staring between the two of them, a slight crease between his eyebrows as he seemed to sense the shift in the air: something was up. Much as they needed to have this conversation, though, Noctis wasn’t about to look a gift chocobo in the mouth and nodded after a brief hesitation. “I…guess?” 

Grunting in affirmation, Gladio turned away and went back to setting up the chairs around the fire, keeping his back to the rest of the group.

Ignis and Prompto, for their parts, didn’t argue, not even to ask what it was Noctis had been trying to tell them. While the latter just seemed confused, however, Ignis’s unsteady hands as he chopped up ingredients to add to the hot pan told a story of their own. He never would have verbalized his suspicions if he had indeed come to the conclusion Noctis was avoiding, but he didn’t have to. It was written all over his taut expression. It was plastered on Gladio’s stiff shoulders as he knelt by the fire, holding his hands over the flames despite how warm it already was outside.

_Maybe…now’s not the right time after all._

So, without another word, Noctis trudged past the others and ducked inside the tent. The reprieve wouldn’t last long—he knew that—and he was determined to make the most of the time he had left before he destroyed what should have been a more joyous reunion. The moment the dreaded words left his lips, the hours they’d spent together and what little they had left would take on a new meaning, a new light. He wanted them to have dinner first; he wanted to spend a few hours around a campfire with his friends one last time before he drove that final wedge between them in favor of his fate. Surely the gods wouldn’t begrudge a condemned man one last pleasure?

He stood just inside the tent for a minute, waiting as if the Six would send some sort of Messenger to answer his unspoken question. When the seconds ticked by without incident, he finally allowed himself to relax a bit. For now, he would just breathe. The truth wasn’t going anywhere.

So, Noctis put it out of his mind for the time being as he unzipped the garment bag that held his father’s parting gift and stared down at the fine fabric that had somehow accompanied them all this way. Honestly, he never would have expected it to be in such good shape after all these years and the many adventures they’d been on in the meantime, but upon closer inspection, Noctis noticed that not a thread was out of place. Perhaps there was some sort of spell on the garments keeping them that way, he mused, and for an instant he wondered if it would help keep him on his feet when they already seemed so unreliable beneath him. It was a preposterous notion, one that he really shouldn’t have entertained, but it was nice to dream. At this point, he had very little else left, so he let himself indulge as he laid out the pieces of the ensemble.

Taking a hint from what his friends had done, since they’d already changed upon arriving at camp, Noctis didn’t don the entirety of his royal garb. It was too soon to stand on such ceremony, so he dressed quickly in the matching black trousers, shirt, and jacket. As it happened, his earlier concerns came to naught: everything fit like a glove. There was no reason for the alternative; the suit would have been made to fit his exact specifications before he left. Regardless, after a decade he’d thought that the rest of the changes he’d undergone would have had some physical manifestation besides pain.

He wasn’t sure if it made him fortunate or cursed that that wasn’t the case.

It had been a long time since Noctis harbored a petty thought, but in the instant he finished fastening the last button and straightening his jacket, he wished there was a mirror somewhere. There was always Prompto’s camera, of course, but seeing how he looked in a suit his father had made for his ascension… That was private, for his eyes and conscience only. There were few things he truly wished to keep from sharing with the others, but that was definitely one.

The whole thing was a moot point anyway: there was no mirror, Prompto would take those pictures, and Noctis would see the culmination of everyone’s hopes and desires without the sanctity of solitude. All things considered, there were worse fates.

When he felt appropriately attired, the Ring of the Lucii comfortably tucked inside his jacket pocket, Noctis took a deep breath and pushed aside the tent flap to rejoin the others. He made it three steps before the catcalls started.

“Aw, yeah—work it, Noct!”

“Shut _up_.”

“Well, would’ja look at that? Our little princess is all grown up.”

Noctis glared at Gladio but didn’t bother to respond—it would only make him laugh more. Ignis didn’t join in, but he was definitely not going to be of any help if his smirk was any indication. From the looks of things, he’d been busy while Noctis was changing. Dinner was finished and plated, the preparation area already cleaned up. Either Noctis had taken longer than he’d planned or Ignis was just that good. It was a tossup, really.

The tension from earlier had dissipated somewhat by the time they finished jeering at him and settled down to eat, reminiscing with stories of days long past spent before similar campfires. There were so many little things that Noctis hadn’t forgotten but similarly hadn’t treasured quite as much as he did now: hunts for dangerous beasts, scavenging for supplies, exploring the countryside… All those memories floated back into his consciousness the longer they sat around the fire, laughing at previous exploits that felt like much further in the past to his friends than to him.

Noctis could only smile even as the bittersweet sensations of their recollections filled him to the brim with emotions he couldn’t quite identify. There were the good things, of course, but also the bad; there were the difficult times and the occasions when they had been able to set aside their journey for a night and just pretend to be _normal_ again. (As normal as a prince and his retinue could ever be, at least.) And, of course, there were so many _faces_ —Cindy, Cid, Cor, Iris, Aranea, Dave, Monica… Noctis knew he would never see those faces in person again, and yet they may not have made it this far without every last one helping him become the king he was meant to be.

_“Many sacrificed all for the King; so must the King sacrifice himself for all.”_

It was his turn to speak, but the silence stretched as that void reopened before his feet. The fire crackled, only instead of creating a contented ambiance as it had moments ago, it sounded like destruction to Noctis now. He closed his eyes against the sinking sensation he felt in his gut, the one that told him to do it now _now now_ …

“You all right over there?” Gladio eventually asked, his tone soft again the way it had been the night before they left Hammerhead. Noctis nodded slowly, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees.

“Yeah, just… I…”

A pause, then, “Spit it out.”

 _Leave it to Gladio_ , Noctis scoffed fondly to himself. Whatever awaited him after death, he would forever miss his Shield. It took a few tries to do as he ordered, and the others waited in silence until he was as ready as he ever would be.

Clearing his throat for the umpteenth time, Noctis exhaled unsteadily and stared down at the ground. “There’s…something I didn’t tell you. Something from when I was in the Crystal.”

If it were possible, the world would have held its breath. Noctis couldn’t raise his eyes, but he wasn’t imagining how still the air had gone around the campfire, even as the latter continued to sputter sparks up into the darkness. There was no going back now.

“The Draconian told me about Ardyn and what we have to do to beat him. They’ve been waiting for this a long time.”

Prompto made an indignant noise under his breath, on Noctis’s behalf most likely, but didn’t interrupt. The latter was infinitely grateful: if he stopped, he might not be able to keep going. Now that he’d begun, the words poured out as if someone else were saying them despite the reluctance that still threatened to choke him.

“All these years I’ve been gone... That’s how long it took for me to get the full power of the Crystal. Every last bit of light it had left had to be transferred to the ring. I had to prove I was _worthy_ of that light, just like with the blessings.” Noctis exhaled sharply in a humorless laugh. “Maybe it would’ve taken less time if I’d pulled my head out of my ass sooner.”

Across from him, Gladio shifted slightly in what Noctis could only assume was discomfort. It had been a lifetime since Gladio had said those words to him on the train to Cartanica, but there was no denying he’d been right, much as Noctis hadn’t wanted to hear it at the time. He _did_ need to pull it together—everything they were fighting, everything they were fighting _for_ was so much bigger than any single one of them. Perhaps if he’d managed to figure that out back then, he wouldn’t have been gone so long proving that he _could_ be the True King the Draconian mentioned.

Pressing on before he lost his nerve, Noctis continued in a strained tone, “Getting the Crystal back doesn’t matter anymore. All of its power is in the ring now, but…I can only access it from the throne.”

“We’ll have to depose Ardyn without its full power, then, if that’s the case,” Ignis murmured thoughtfully. Noctis nodded.

“Yeah. Once we take him down, that should give me enough time to…to do what needs to be done.”

He didn’t mean to pause, but he simply couldn’t figure out how to come out and _say_ it. Should he just blurt it out and pick up the pieces after they fell, or was it better to sugarcoat it? Gladio and Ignis wouldn’t appreciate the latter, but Noctis wasn’t sure they would deal so well with the former either. Thankfully—if he could really call it that—Prompto helped him along with perplexed frown.

“So…how are you supposed to access it? Is it, like, a new spell?”

_If only._

Noctis shook his head, his eyes drawn back to the fire until all he could see was red. “I’m…not exactly sure how it works. All I know is…” He swallowed hard. _Now or never._ “All I know is it’ll require a sacrifice.”

“W-what…what _kind_ …of sacrifice?”

“The ultimate kind.”

Silence. Unbearable silence. The kind of silence where you wished desperately for someone to say _something_ while simultaneously hoping that they didn’t just so things didn’t get worse.

Noctis wasn’t sure which was more accurate to describe the way Prompto shook his head, opened his mouth a few times, and eventually managed to sputter, “B-b-but… But we—you—you just got _back_.”

“I know.”

“You’ve _already_ sacrificed everything!”

“Not everything,” countered Noctis sadly, wishing he had another answer to offer him. “Not yet.”

That brought Prompto up short, but it didn’t look like he was any closer to accepting the truth. He was clearly out of words, however, and he turned desperately to Gladio and Ignis as if they might back him up. He was mistaken.

“You guys…don’t look very surprised,” he grumbled incredulously. The flash of suspicion in his eyes was matched by the guilt in Ignis and Gladio’s. Prompto must have seen it as well, because he shook his head vehemently and burst out, “You already _knew_!?”

“I suspected,” replied Ignis carefully. Gladio leaned back in his seat and stared up at the sky.

“We both did.”

Glaring, Prompto protested, “And you didn’t share _becaaauuuse_...?”

Ignis shook his head. “It wasn’t for us to tell.”

For a second, Noctis thought Prompto might just turn his temper on _him_ next. After all, he had every right to be angry; Noctis should have told them when he got back. There had been a thousand opportunities for him to come clean, but he’d just wanted a little longer to deny the inevitable. Was it so wrong of him to be with his friends one last time without the prospect of his imminent demise looming over them like a reaper?

Whether the same thoughts occurred to him or something else managed to cool his ire, Prompto’s eyes lost their fervor when they fell on him again. Noctis watched his initial anger fade away when their gazes met, replaced by resignation and a bone-deep sadness that looked so foreign on his usually happy features. Now was the time to apologize, to tell them that he hadn’t meant to hurt any of them by keeping this a secret, but Prompto beat him to the punch.

“There’s…no other way?” he whispered. It didn’t sound like a question underneath his weary, reluctant acceptance, but Noctis treated it as such.

“I wish there were,” he answered just as softly, closing his eyes. “But I _have_ to do this. For everybody.”

There was no arguing this time. Maybe it was the fact that Noctis sounded so much more sure of himself than he felt; maybe the others just weren’t certain what else to say. Of all the words in every language known to man and god and anything else that ever existed, there was really only one left to say after all this, and the time hadn’t yet come for that. It was so close that Noctis could taste it more potently than his dinner, but not yet. If there was any justice left in the world, _not yet_.

When silence fell this time, it was different. There was no expectation; he felt no need to fill the gap with useless words that wouldn’t change a thing. Being here was enough, as was the knowledge that this would be the last time they were all together like this. Tomorrow, they would push forward and walk that ever shortening road towards the fate that had awaited him for a quarter of a century. The beginning of the end was at hand, so right now, with the truth laid out before them and the time for that word drawing nearer, he would make the most of things.

And while the time for _that_ word would come soon, there were others that needed to be said _now_.

“The four of us around a campfire,” he mused quietly, unable to draw his eyes away from the safety of the flames. “How long’s it been?”

Ignis hummed in something like agreement. “An eternity.”

And it would be an eternity before they met again. After tomorrow.

Gradually, Noctis reclined back against his seat and surveyed his hands where they were resting on his knees. What he wanted to say could very well take an eternity, one that he didn’t have. Oh, how quickly time abandoned you when you weren’t paying close enough attention.

“So, yeah,” he eventually managed when the silence grew too oppressive. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to continue. The words kept sticking in his throat, as though they knew what he did: that they were but the precursors to the one he dreaded having to say. “I, um…”

The others didn’t try to prompt him at first, seemingly lost in their own thoughts, until Gladio unsurprisingly grew tired of beating around the bush.

“Out with it.”

_Like it’s that easy._

Bowing his head, Noctis struggled to string together a sentence that could encompass everything he wanted to tell them. Where did he even begin? He wanted to thank them for their loyalty, their friendship, even and perhaps most especially when times were tough. He wanted to tell Ignis how much it meant to him that even after the latter was blinded in Altissia, he never thought to abandon Noctis; he’d made good on his promise to always be there, no matter what. He wanted to tell Gladio how much he admired him, and how glad he was that Gladio hadn’t given up on him when they were hardly more than children. He wanted to tell Prompto that the day they finally spoke for the first time— _really_ spoke—was one of the happiest of his life, and how much he needed someone who didn’t treat him like royalty or a circus freak.

“I just…”

He reached and reached and _reached_ , but the words simply weren’t _there_.

“…Dammit,” he sighed, clenching his fist. “The hell is this so hard?”

No one offered him any help. That was a blessing in its own right: he’d never been good with _feelings_ , but this was something he needed to do on his own. So, he laced his fingers together as the fire cast shadows nowhere near as long as the ones on their hearts, lifted his head to face his friends directly, and tried again.

“So, I… I’ve made my peace. Still… Knowing this is it, and seeing you here, now…” The lump had returned to lodge itself in his throat, and the corners of his eyes burned as his vision swam behind his tears. “It’s…more than I can take.”

It was nowhere near enough, but it was all he had in him. As the tears began to fall, Noctis turned away from the others and hid his face in the shadows. Everything hurt, and this time, it had nothing to do with the metal burden in his pocket. No, the source of his pain was beating in his chest, not for much longer now.

“Yeah. You’re damn right it is.” From the sound of Prompto’s voice (Noctis was too afraid to look at them lest he lose whatever scraps of composure he had left), he wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

“Huh, you spit it out.”

_And then there’s Gladio._

Ignis shifted restlessly, heaving a deep sigh that spoke volumes even before he agreed, “It’s good to hear.”

And just like that, something clicked into place.

It was odd, the way Ignis always seemed to know exactly what to say. Four simple words unlocked the door to all the things Noctis wanted to tell them, and as he stood up to smile tremulously at each of his best friends in the world, it felt like he should have done it ages ago.

“Well, what can I say? You guys…are the best.”

 

***

 

There was a certain peace in the air despite all that had transpired. This wasn’t the end of their journey—not by a long shot—but they were one step closer, and all the puzzle pieces were aligning. No more secrets, no more hesitation, no more despair. Hope was on the horizon, waiting to arrive with the dawn. The tears they’d all shed at dinner (including Gladio, no matter how vehemently he denied it) had somehow released all the pent-up rage and sadness that had festered all this time at the injustice of their plight and, with their newest revelation, Noctis’s fate.

Words had been unnecessary after his admission. There simply wasn’t anything else to say, and more had been communicated silently anyway. Meaningful nods, claps on shoulders, misty-eyed smiles—they were united in their relief at being together for one more night and grief at it being their last. They cleaned up their empty dishes together, set the daemon-repelling perimeter fires together, and turned in for the night as a unit. In some ways, it reminded Noctis of their previous adventures, and the succinctness of their camaraderie wrapped him in a familiar cocoon of _home_. It was a comforting feeling, especially as they prepared their gear to head into the Crown City. After all, it wouldn’t be home without Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto.

Once again, however, sleep eluded him. Even with his mind at ease after coming clean, Noctis’s heart was still restless for reasons unbeknownst to him. The minutes ticked by, each one drawing them closer to morning and their necessary departure, yet the pull of unconsciousness wasn’t strong enough to drag him under. He could tell from the sound of their breathing that the others were having the same difficulty.

Noctis wasn’t certain how long he lay there, staring up at the ceiling of the tent and waiting for sleep to claim him, when the reason for his unease finally occurred to him. It made his heart ache to think that such a thing needed to be addressed at all, but if he didn’t say something now, there might not be another chance. He’d used up most of his strength just telling the others about the true meaning of the prophecy, so he took a few deep breaths to steady himself before speaking into the silence.

“I need you guys to promise me something.”

Three sets of lungs stuttered to a pause, and he knew he had their undivided attention. Noctis didn’t turn to look at them as he continued, “Promise you’ll stick together this time. That…you’ll rebuild everything. Together. Everyone’s going to need someone to look to after I’m…”

_Gone._

He’d thought for sure there were no more tears left in him, but it appeared his eyes were ready to prove him wrong as two drops streaked down his temples and pooled in his ears. It was a good thing they’d turned off the lantern: he didn’t think he could bear to let them see how weak he felt right now, not when he needed to be strong. Not when he needed to be the King of Light. They knew him better than anyone, so he was unlikely to be fooling them anytime soon, but he still didn’t want them to _see_ it.

Mercifully, no one turned the lantern back on. For an immeasurable moment, no one did anything, as a matter of fact. Then, so gently he wouldn’t have noticed it if he weren’t waiting for an answer, a warm hand closed around his own where it was stretched out over his head.

Noctis blinked, rolling his head to the side just as Ignis squeezed his hand in reassurance and two others joined him.

“You have our word.”

 _That_ was what he’d been longing for. He realized it the moment the words drifted towards him, his heart’s hammering finally adopting a calmer tempo and allowing sleep to tug at his eyelids. Stretching out his fingers, he held tight to their hands as though that alone was keeping him from slipping over the edge of existence.

In the moments before oblivion finally, blissfully claimed him, Noctis heard himself whisper, “Thank you,” and hoped they knew it wasn’t _just_ for their promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The mention of King Regis losing access to his weapons is from the fourth episode of "Brotherhood." Ignis gives Noctis an update as to things in the Citadel and includes that bit of information about his father. Now, we all know that Regis does still use the Armiger in "Kingsglaive," so my assumption is that he knew he was going to die and therefore went all-out while he needed to be more cautious in earlier days to keep the Wall up.  
> 2\. Noct's mention of Gladio giving up on him was a reference to the third episode of "Brotherhood," and Prompto talking to him from the second episode.  
> 3\. The latter part of the campfire dialogue is from the mid-credits scene.  
> 4\. The daemon-repelling fires are something I thought would make sense given the state of things at this point. The overlook by Insomnia isn't actually a haven--you can't camp there in the game until you head to Insomnia in the final chapter. That being said, I wondered what would protect them from daemons overnight and came to the decision that fire would be the best option since light repels daemons. It isn't foolproof, hence Gladio mentioning that they needed to be ready to move quickly, but it was the best I thought they'd be able to do given the circumstances.  
> 5\. There were a few things that got cut from this chapter, namely a reference to Luna that I've been planning from the start. Those things will be incorporated in a different story from someone else's point of view instead. I just felt that this needed to be about the boys alone. 
> 
> This last part was extremely difficult to write and, I can imagine, probably rather tough to read in places. I hope you've enjoyed this addition to the series and wanted to thank everyone for continuing to stick with me as I tell these stories. Your comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and even just clicking in to read have been so very important to me, and I appreciate every one of you for taking the time to join me. The next installment will be something much happier dealing with some of the boys' younger years before we hop back into the depths of despair in the following story, so in the immortal words of Tetsuya Nomura: please look forward to it! ;) 
> 
> Until next time, walk tall, my friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
